


Property Of

by rent_a_gundam



Series: Rent-a-Gundam [67]
Category: Gundam & Related Fandoms, Gundam 00
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Biting, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Consensual Violence, Dominance, Hair-pulling, M/M, Masochism, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-01
Updated: 2009-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 20:20:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rent_a_gundam/pseuds/rent_a_gundam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Going somewhere?" the man asks. Every siren in Lyle's head is clanging urgently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Property Of

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the sprawling Rent-a-Gundam series: a university/rent-boy!AU that was co-written by Veda, Auto, Orange and Typo. An in-universe timeline can be seen here: <http://rent-a-gundam.livejournal.com/731.html>.
> 
> ***
> 
> This story was written by Orange.
> 
> Originally posted here: <http://rent-a-gundam.livejournal.com/4515.html>.

He drops by the student center when he's finished modeling for Life Drawing. It's a good place to meet people you'll never see again, and fifty minutes of being naked under the scrutiny of a bunch of artists always leaves Lyle itching for a one-night stand.

Today he sees something new.

There's a man standing by the bake sale table. Long green hair, slim wrists, flirtatious posture. His face is turned away, so Lyle can't see if his face is as beautiful as his hands, but it doesn't matter. Lyle's pulse jumps the minute he sees the guy, in much the same way your hand flinches back before you notice you've touched something hot.

Lyle tells himself he can get laid another day.

Halfway to the door, he has another moment where his body knows what's going on before his brain does. A stray air current brushes his skin in a way it shouldn't, and he's already turning around by the time he asks himself what's wrong.

What he sees first is the the smile. It's soft, amused, unremarkable in every possible way, and it makes Lyle's instincts want to piss themselves for reasons that have nothing to do with the fact that it's about four inches from his face.

Then the eyes. One grey, one yellow.

"Going somewhere?" the man asks, at which point Lyle sees the hair and confirms that it really is the same guy. Every siren in his head is clanging urgently.

"I," he starts. "Uh." His mouth is dry. He scrambles for some kind of line, something suitably witty and flirtatious, but his thoughts are consumed by an overpowering urge to drag this man into the nearest dark alley.

That unremarkable smile widens into a toothy, feral grin.

For the life of him, Lyle cannot catch his fucking breath.

When the man starts laughing at him, he doesn't care. When the man grabs his wrist and tows him outside without another word, he cares, but only in the way where it makes his cock twitch. Terror fights it out with lust inside his head; lust wins.

Their eventual destination isn't a dark alley, but it's pretty fucking close. Down the street, into a building, through some anonymous hallways while Lyle struggles to fill his lungs against the pressure of his reactions. Finally, a door that looks like it should definitely be locked. His captor yanks it open carelessly and shoves Lyle through.

It's one of those little nooks you get in universities, where the buildings are assembled in pieces by committee. Ten feet by six feet, brick on all sides, and a single lonely door that used to provide street access when one end of this enclosure led to a street. The dirt under their feet is littered with construction-yard rubble and struggling weeds.

He doesn't get more than a few seconds to examine the place, because the stranger slams him up against a wall and _bites_ him, high on the side of his neck. Lyle shivers.

The pain brings a few things into focus, his arousal foremost among them, but there's one thought he doesn't let go of once it floats through his mind. _I am going to die._

Here in this anonymous little corner of nowhere, maybe after fucking this stranger whose name he doesn't even know, maybe not. He's going to die.

And he's still so turned on he can hardly breathe.

Those sharp teeth drag hard down his throat, and he inhales sharply, then drops his hands to fumble with the zipper of his new friend's jeans. One-night stands are always _my new friend_ in absence of names; why should potential murderers be any different?

For a short time it looks like things are going very, very well. Long enough for Lyle to let out one breath, drag in another, and slip his fingers under the waistband of some very nice boxers-- is that seriously silk?

Then something obviously sets his new friend off, because he wraps a hand around Lyle's neck and shoves. The back of Lyle's head cracks against the brick, and his vision blurs; when the world comes back, maybe half a second later, the first hand has been joined by a second and Lyle's throat won't open to let in air.

He doesn't struggle. He doesn't even close his eyes. He meets that mismatched gaze, lips slightly parted, and makes no attempt to breathe.

For some reason it doesn't surprise him when the grip loosens and a warm mouth closes over his own. It _definitely_ doesn't surprise him when the stranger bites his lip; he moans, inhales reluctantly, and kisses back.

Somehow, in his urgency, he manages to take them all the way across the little enclosure. Now he's the one pressing forward, fitting in all the right places, and his new friend is the one with his back to the wall.

The role reversal doesn't last. Well, Lyle wasn't expecting it to. He thinks he could get used to the way this guy moves: all at once, one second rolling his hips forward under Lyle's hands, the next spinning to reassert his dominance by trapping Lyle between his teeth and the wall.

There's more to him than teeth, but Lyle isn't concerned with much else at the moment. Pain and fear have this wonderful way of concentrating the attention.

His hands, knocked aside by the sudden impact, find their way back to his new friend's hips. Then a little lower, and a little further in. This time, the reaction isn't negative, and he gets as far as wrapping his fingers around the man's cock before the situation changes again.

He doesn't resist getting shoved to his knees. There's hardly space to tip his head back and offer an insolent grin, but he does it anyway; anything to provoke more violence.

For a second or two, his new friend almost looks uncertain. Then the moment of-- doubt? internal conflict?-- passes, and one hand fists in Lyle's hair while the other shoves at those boxers. Definitely silk.

Lyle obeys the implied suggestion with enthusiasm. Enthusiasm and teeth.

It works beautifully; one guarded scrape and he's being crushed back into the wall, grinding his scalp against the brick. Two, and he starts to choke. He barely stops himself from wrapping his arms around the stranger's waist and clinging for all he's worth.

Everything is _want_. He wants this man to hurt him. He wants this man to kill him. He wants this man to come down his throat and then make him choke on it.

Not necessarily in that exact order.

The pressure lets up; the hand in his hair loosens and drops away. He can breathe again, not quite easily but close. That's not on. While his lungs fight to suck air from his obstructed throat, he bites down again. Not hard enough to cause serious injury, but certainly hard enough to get his new friend's attention.

His new friend's attention comes in the form of Lyle's head knocking back against the wall. That's more like it. Lyle moans with what little breath he's got as the man fucks his mouth. He digs in his fingers, hands clenched tight on the stranger's hips.

The world is very briefly a perfect place.

Then, unaccountably, Lyle's new friend decides to be nice again. His sharp thrusts aren't slamming Lyle's head against the wall anymore; he's not forcing Lyle to choke on his cock.

Lyle takes advantage of this unwanted autonomy to rake his teeth along the man's shaft, and when that doesn't work, he bites. Harder than before.

 _That_ does the trick. The man fists both hands in Lyle's hair and yanks, hard enough that the back of Lyle's throat feels bruised, hard enough that he has to blink tears of pain from his eyes. He tries not to gag, with middling success.

The sheer wonderful immediacy of it blanks him out. His world is lips and throat and tongue and teeth and watering eyes and knotted stomach. His head hits the wall again, which does nothing to help his grip on reality.

What brings him out is the taste of semen and the instinctive struggle to clear his windpipe. His new friend shoves him back against the bricks one more time, pulls away, and leaves him there. Lyle, still dazed, doesn't give a shit.

He at least retains enough self-control to wait until he gets home before locking himself in his room and jerking off like his life depends on it.

◊

Halle likes the student center. It's a remarkably good place to score an easy kill.

Not that he's murdered anyone in this city yet. Murder leads to bodies, which lead to police investigations, which lead to moving. Out of deference to Al's quest for normality, he's keeping a low profile for now.

But there's no reason he can't keep his hand in. So he flirts, smiles, practices his social face, has casual sex, and thinks wistfully of what he could do with fifteen minutes and a sharp knife.

Then he feels the slight change in atmosphere that means he's being watched. Not for very long, a few seconds at most, but for some reason it catches his attention. He turns away from the latest victim and picks his observer out of the crowd.

At a glance, he can read the man's posture, and his interest sharpens considerably. Fear, lust, internal conflict. Halle only gets _that_ reaction when he lets the mask slip a little, and he knows he's done no such thing.

He crosses the room and catches up easily, long before the other man reaches the door. Despite Halle's complete silence, the stranger turns abruptly, and he finds himself staring into a pair of clear blue eyes.

Well, at least the mystery man ain't an eyesore. Kind of cute, in a deer-in-headlights way.

Halle smiles a social smile, all rounded corners, no sharp edges.

"Going somewhere?" he asks politely.

The words _oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck **yes**_ are written across the man's expression in block letters. "I, uh," he mumbles, and stalls out there.

This time, when Halle grins, there's nothing soft and nothing social about it. The reaction is priceless; Halle has to laugh, first at the look on the guy's face, then because there's no _way_ he's going to turn down this opportunity. So much for a low fucking profile. He'll find someplace really fucking obscure to dump the body.

Dragging the poor dumb cocksucker to the nearest mostly private place is a piece of fucking cake, half because of Halle's enhanced strength and half because of the man's complete lack of survival instincts. All he does the whole way is shiver and stumble and pant; no questions, like what Halle's name is or where they're going or if he's going to be on the bottom of a lake somewhere by sunrise.

Halle likes that. It makes things simpler.

The door is still unlocked from the last time he was here. He opens it, pushes his captive through, and slams the man against a wall the minute they're both inside. Sinking his teeth into that tender throat is like coming home.

His perfect fucking victim just shivers some more. Whatever world the idiot is living in, it's obviously not the one where Halle is about to jump his naive little ass and then kill him.

He bites again, raking his teeth down the side of the man's neck. There's a gasp, and then there's a pair of hands fumbling with Halle's fly. Apparently he's making an impression.

Something isn't quite right. It takes him a little while to realize, but when the pieces fall into place it's so very fucking obvious. The man isn't _naive_. He's fucking terrified. He knows exactly what Halle is-- he's known since the student center-- and he _wants_ it. Wants Halle to kill him.

Halle snarls, grabs him by the throat, and pins him viciously to the wall. The impact knocks all the air from the fucker's lungs, but he doesn't seem to give a shit; in fact, as Halle brings the other hand up to start choking him properly, he actually relaxes. If Halle had to put a name to the look in those eyes, he'd call it bliss.

Fucking nutcase.

There's only one thing Halle can do, and that's stop strangling this asshole and start kissing him instead. Hard, angry, vicious, brutal.

He's not surprised when his victim kisses back. He's completely blindsided when the man shoves him clear to the other wall while he's at it.

Fucking hell, the little bitch has _balls_.

Halle doesn't let him get away with that for more than a few seconds before turning them around and shoving him into the rough brick again. For good measure, he gives the man another bite, too.

Of course the lunatic eats it right up. It's maybe half a minute before he gets back to work on Halle's pants, and this time Halle lets him do it, pressing forward into his hand.

His patience evaporates quickly. With a low growl, he grabs his victim's shoulders and forces the man to kneel. There's no resistance, unless you count that grin, bright and gleefully challenging.

For a second or two, he considers making threats. Then he remembers the parted lips and shining eyes when he was strangling the guy, and decides that threatening him would be really fucking counterproductive.

Instead, Halle grabs him by the hair and pulls that grinning mouth to his cock. He'll give the crazy bastard this much: asshole sucks dick like a _pro_.

Asshole also has a death wish. In case Halle hasn't figured that out already, the feeling of sharp teeth raking his cock is a pretty big hint. He leans forward, shoving the man's head into the wall, making him _choke_ on it.

Apparently that's all he was looking for, because he gets nice and docile again, sliding his tongue up Halle's cock. Halle can see, smell, and feel how much he's getting into this. Not surprisingly, it's hot as fucking hell.

The only problem is, Halle doesn't want this guy dying in the middle of a pretty decent blowjob.

He eases off gradually, letting go of the man's hair, giving him a little space to breathe in. Of course he's biting Halle again the minute he gets a lungful; Halle slams his head against the wall to subdue him, which works like a charm. The bites aren't even that hard, more a way to beg for retribution than a way to hurt.

The harder Halle fucks this guy's mouth, the happier he gets. Moaning around Halle's cock, digging his fingers into Halle's hips with the characteristic scrape of nails on denim.

Experimentally, Halle starts being gentle with him again.

It's not even a little bit surprising that the bastard drags his teeth up Halle's cock and then bites down. The first feels pretty good, actually; the second hurts like a bitch.

Halle grabs himself a double handful of hair-- asshole's got enough of it to go around-- and rams his cock down the bastard's throat. The sight of tears trickling down those flushed cheeks does Halle's heart good.

He slams the man's head into the wall again, just to hear the crack. It excites him. A few more thrusts, and he comes; predictably, his victim just sits there looking well-used and happy.

So Halle shoves him against the wall, once more for the road, and takes off.

On the way home he tells himself he's not fucking looking forward to the next time he prowls the student center.

◊

The following week, Lyle visits the student center three times. The fourth time, he's half a block away when he spots a familiar silhouette leading somebody out of the building.

He has no right to think of that silhouette as familiar.

As he walks closer, it becomes obvious that the man can't see him. No, his new friend (old friend?) is way too engrossed in flirting with that impressionable brunette to keep an eye out for passersby.

Suits Lyle fine. He comes up behind them on the left, the side his green-haired buddy is walking on. He doesn't try to walk quietly, because skulking around in broad daylight is suspicious as hell.

When he taps the man on the shoulder, his fist is already moving. It should be impossible to duck that without warning. His new friend does it anyway, so it's a good thing Lyle follows up with a punch to the stomach. _That_ hits.

The brunette decides she has an urgent appointment somewhere that's else.

Lyle barely has time to recognize her departure, because his new friend's return blows are like getting punched by a freight train. Two hits and he's down. Everything hurts, but particularly his ribs and his cheekbone.

A hand fists in the front of his shirt and drags him up to his friend's eye level. He grins. His friend snorts softly.

"How about you and I take this somewhere more private?" the man asks.

"Deal," Lyle answers without a second thought. His new friend drops him; he stumbles, catches himself, and straightens.

By this time his buddy is already headed back the way Lyle came. Shrugging to himself, he catches up.

There's about half a minute of silence.

Then, quite abruptly, as the guy turns onto a side street: "My name is Hallelujah. So you know what to scream."

The words come with a grin, which Lyle would appreciate more if he weren't busy laughing his ass off. Hallelujah (seriously?) gives him a flat look.

Lyle sobers enough to answer it with mockery. " _Oh God!_ for short?" he asks, doing a credible imitation of a bad porn soundtrack.

Hallelujah lets out a snicker. "Halle works too," he suggests, his grin undiminished. Lyle returns it.

This time, the half-minute of silence is a lot more comfortable.

It's Halle who speaks first. "And do you have a name, or should I stick to descriptive nouns?"

"Lyle." He flashes a mischievous little smile. "So you know what to carve on your ass beside Property Of."

Halle's eyes narrow. Lyle suppresses a shudder. "Who's going to be carving his name in _whose_ ass, here?"

 _Oh_ yes, Lyle thinks. This is going to be _fun_.


End file.
